A Flame of Love

A flame burns inside a parent. The flame ignites passions; career, hobbies, education, spirit, social activities. Love is the source of the fuel. Our children are our love. To lose a love, which can never be replaced, if not extinguishes the flame, surely dims it to a flicker.

Grief is a losing proposition. To grieve is to experience anguish. Anguish sounds like a powerful word. It has its roots in grief. Its at home with grief. Anguish is a hurt of the body, mind, and soul. Who could want grief and its evil friend?

The other hand holds more strife. Its the notion to stop grieving. To stop presents a fear of losing the child again. For example: As long as I grieve, I have what is left of my son; the pain. The closest thing to feeling him is the pain. The pain is real. The memories are visions. I want to hold my son, but if I can't feel his body I can at least feel the pain of loving him. Remembering him exactly as he was with all the good and all the not so good (as human as me), is pain. To not have the pain and agony, I have to not go where I have to go. I know for certain the answer to questions like: Would you run into a burning building to try to save your child? We grieve to be close to our child and fire could never hurt so much as anguish.

Passion for common life pleasures is not part of my life today. The flame burns less bright. Billy Graham on facing death: Let grief do its work. Tramp every inch of the sorrowful way. Drink every drop of the bitter cup.

Bitter it is. The size of the cup must be gigantic.

Aaron's Poem of Hills 4/6/04

These hills that stand before me
are tall and burly
each hill can tell tales of past life
like I can tell tales of my past life
These hills seem to have their ups & downs
The life I lead has its ups & downs
no matter what you do these hills stand strong
no man can bring these hills down
call them all the names you wish
they stand strong
Just like me.

Aaron J. Meyer


Aaron wrote this during his Intervention Study in the mountains outside of Prineville, OR. The one photo shows his view from his "solo site". The photo of Aaron kneeling was taken where Aaron set up his sleeping bag for the night under the stars. The object in his left hand is the hide he removed from the skull of the bull he is holding under his right arm. The skull was his protection from ??? who knows.

Aaron and I hiked up to see this important place on April 23, 2004. The roles were reversed on this day. Aaron, the son, was teaching me, the Dad, what he learned about his ability to be a young man and honorable son, brother, and friend. A spiritually strong and significant day to say the least. Maybe Aaron's life took a significant change in April, '04.

By the middle of May, Aaron was surely confused about life and he was on his way to 40 days in the desert of Idaho for more intense wilderness experience. There may be no more greater love of nature for Aaron than what he lived in his days in the desert and the mountains of the high country desert of Oregon. Solitude is a blessing.

Last January 31st, Aaron was home from OR, and he began his course work at Horizon High School in Madison. I think he brought to his classmates a sense of depth of spirit. Aaron had comfort in his self. He had respect for nature and other people. When Aaron entered Horizon, I think his ego was no more apparent than his socks. His spirit was bigger than life though. Aaron was doing his work, standing strong, and accepting of his past life experiences as part of his character. They were part of the landscape; just ups and downs, no more, no less. I thought we were on our way to seeing Aaron grow from a hill into a mountain. By April 6, 2005 we were grateful for our son's safety and hopeful for the future.

Next week will mark nine months since Aaron passed away. Writing "passed away" is agony; cold air on a raw nerve. If we could call him home I wonder if he would return? I think he would say "No offense Dad, (Aaron often began his comments that way) but I'm free and having fun. There are no struggles in heaven. And, hey you don't need money! I'm a mountain. I'm in heaven. Sorry, but this is where I want to be. You can miss me but know I'm with you."

Life does have ups & downs. In The Little Book of Wisdom, the Dali Lama says Life is Suffering. I trust death is not.

Eyes of Contentment and Determination

Tubing in Oregon 7 or 8/04. Beginning an introspective writing project at Mount Bachelor Academy 2/04. Ascending the Tyco Slide for a daredevil plunge into a wading pool in 1988. The first day of 40 days in the Idaho desert 5/04.

I miss these eyes.

Tom

Treasure Box

Years ago I bought cigars in a neat little cedar box. Aaron, a little boy at the time, liked these boxes for keeping his treasures. The box held wonderful things over the years like notes from friends, marbles, newspaper articles, random toys, and a few things he wanted out of sight from Mom and Dad. The box was an open book to us. It told us more than once what was on Aaron's mind; what he was up to, what he valued.

Last night a dryer vent issue (small project, big mess for me) took us to Aaron's closet. Seeing his shoes, shirts, pants, ... brought on some hard tears for Cathy. This morning she went back to look at some of Aaron's belongings. Cathy found the Treasure cigar box. Inside was a big pile of Camel cigarette coupons. Apparently if you buy unknown numbers of packs of cigs, the tobacco company rewards you with some free stuff. (Thank you for slowly killing yourself and becoming addicted to a life altering habit by using OUR tobacco.)

Underneath the paper were the real treasures. A badge of COURAGE given to Aaron at Mount Bachelor Academy during one of the life work studies he completed. Aaron's work in that step was to understand that he had tremendous courage which he was not allowing himself to recognize. (The Cowardly Lion of Oz had the same affliction)

The other memento was a crucifix. A part of a rosary which was in our family for maybe 60 years. The crucifix is a hand made wood and metal piece with a detailed figure. The inscription on the back indicates it came from ITALIA. (Not China) I had given the rosary to Aaron long ago. The beads, now missing, were well worn the last time I saw them. Grandma Meyer was a devout Catholic. With a few sons in the armed forces during WWII she spent much time with a rosary and passed the practice on. This particular rosary was likely my Dad's. I always believed he brought it home from Europe in 1947.

Cathy and I felt a peace to get this one more indication of Aaron's values at the end of his life. Aaron was clearly a spiritual person. He talked more of finding his spirituality in nature and less in organized religion. Aaron knew he was courageous in physical activities. He was not always sure he could be courageous in living a life of honor. Aaron knew his work and valued the price he paid for his learning.

It's not always what we announce that tells our character. The discovery of the badge of courage and the crucifix, ranks right up there with a call from the person in the Town of Windsor. This lady invited us over to see the landscape work Aaron volunteered to do for her, without our knowledge, this past April. Good works with no fanfare. Good acts in exchange for peace at heart.

Maybe what we value and keep in our hearts, in our minds, in our Treasure Boxes, carry the most powerful statements about our selves.

Aaron's Dad

Where Were You When You Heard the News?

Where were you? What did you hear? What did you think? What did you do when you heard the news?

Tom

Dreams

For the past two weeks or so I have been waking to dreams of a common theme. Each dream includes Aaron... that's good feeling. The dreams end the same way reality ended, with Aaron dieing. That's not good.

In the dream Aaron is dieing of an illness and I'm attempting to give him a pill or some sort of medicine. Watching Aaron's eyes begin to flutter and close or his breathing shorten and stop while I'm holding him in my arms is entirely different than reality; I wasn't there in Aaron's last moments. The dreams are adding one more level to the pain. I'm not in favor of this.

Last night the dream took a turn, maybe for the better. Aaron was in front of me as big as life. Everything seemed real: his big shoulders and hands, scruffy face. It was all Aaron. Wearing his blue jean jacket and his unruly mop of hair as dishelved as ever, Aaron said to me: Dad, I don't think I'm supposed to be here. He seemed, not worried or sad, but confused as if he had taken a wrong turn and ended up in the wrong classroom.

Recalling, in my sleep, the advice of an author I talked to Aaron in my sleep dream and encouraged him to go and see what heaven had for him. I told him the world no longer held him in limits. His response was not in words, but in the look on his face: OK. I actually felt like I was communicating with Aaron. The feeling was similar to having the Father-Son talks I miss. The ones where Aaron tells me of his plans and asks for my opinions on his ideas. (Sometimes he actually wanted my input.)

The dream switched to Aaron kneeling at the foot of God. His head bowed. When Aaron stood up, he was dressed in white and I guess vanished into heaven. Clearly in my sleep I felt disconnected from Aaron after he left, but content that we had talked.

At this point, Cathy woke me up. The middle of the night is a difficult time for her. She does not have, or doesn't recall "Aaron dreams". Cathy prays for a dream. I know she'd love to have a touch of what it was like to talk to Aaron. A dream might suffice.

Cathy has a theory that goes something like this: Even though we don't recall the experience, we do experience a deep, clear connection with our son in heaven. He is able to let us know that he is well and happy in heaven. We are able to share feelings and maybe even hugs. This expereince, which we have no conscious recollection of, carries us through for a time and that's how we are able to have "good days".

Seems probable to me. We've been told this is no time for rational thinking so I'm going to believe dreams are more than random thoughts or electrical energy sparking images in my restless mind. I've asked this before and I still wonder-- Why can't dreams be real?

Ready to call it a night.
Tom

Dayze and Days

I want to do this grief thing well. Eight months in I know it is a day to day ordeal. Live in the present. Don't get too far ahead. What about when the present is too sad; the past too far and the future too long? Is it possible to step aside for some time and let the days bleed on? No.

Living in the day and experiencing the pain of the past, present, and future is what I understand is meant when told "You have to go through the pain". There is no running away from, burying, ignoring or dulling of the pain. The promise is to be better healed for doing the work now. Sometimes I'm left a bit bewildered by it all.

Cathy and I walked in the warm afternoon today. We sat on a bench in the park and felt the healthy sun. I walked outside into the moonlit night. Clear and crisp. Looking at the moon I thought about words Aaron and I read and recalled more than once. It goes something like this:

Because we never know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number really...How many more times will you see a full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless. from paul bowles, The Sheltering Sky

Does my son feel the warm rays of the sun? Does he see the same full moon? I don't know.

Tom

Tommy - Liz - Aaron. Horizon High School Grads

The date of this photo is unknown to me, but it is likely only days before Aaron's death. Sunny. Warm. Certainly May.

Tommy and Aaron were weeks away from graduation. Liz would have another semester to go. They appear to be having a smoke break on the tailgate of Aaron's truck. Camel Lights for Aaron. Maybe the same for Liz. Tommy? Whatever you're smoking is good for him.

Tommy and Aaron met near the end of January '05. They were two of the first students at a high school of 5-6 students. Liz arrived after the semester began. The three bonded beautifully. Liz is an artist. Tommy's a computer wiz. Each is a talented free spirit. Each is as wonderfully compassionate as a parent could want in a son or daughter. This truck was their ride. Aaron lived 15 miles from school. Liz, about 2. Tommy, maybe 8 miles. They could go through a tank of gas every two days.

Aaron was never one to offer any details on their daily activities. I suspected they were up to something and I usually suspected the something was not good. I was wrong. Tommy, Liz, and Aaron were best of friends and best for eachother. Horizon High School is a sobriety school. The three supported eachother through some challenging times. Relationships, friendships, sobriety, etc...they connected with eachother to stay on track. The connection was critical.

Many high school students have more than one group of friends. It's a natural outcome of being open and accepting. Some students are drug and alcohol free. Others are not. Some become addicted. Others do not. Leaving people you like because they are users or addicts is not an easy option, (anti-drug commercials suggest otherwise). The sober or non-addicted friends don't know the pain of addiction. They can't relate. To make it sober one day at a time, the person trying to remain sober has a chance when they connect with people who know their struggle. Tommy, Liz, and Aaron knew the common struggle. They wrapped their arms around themselves and held on.

Tommy told a group of students just the other day that Aaron told them on the morning he died "I'm going make it. I'm going to graduate sober." I knew Aaron had made that commitment to me, to his Mom, to Patrick and to other people. Nobody was closer to Aaron in those last days than Tommy and Liz. Eight months after the terrible day, hearing Tommy quote Aaron with the sound of hope and confidence I miss gave me some peace. With all the focus on healing, I've lost touch with the intensity of Aaron's efforts involving addiction.

Liz completed her work in December. I believe she will be the third Horizon High graduate following Tommy and Aaron. Our family will be at graduation. A world of contentment and happiness is out there for Tommy and Liz. We wish them peace.

Tom

May 10, 2005 - January 10, 2006

The first hours of May 10, 2005 were much like every day for the previous three months. Aaron was home. Our family of four was back together. There was real peace in our home. Just days earlier I walked in from work with arms full of stuff and moved basketballs and boy things out of my way with my foot. Instead of grumbling something about ungrateful kids not picking up their junk, I smiled and thought how good it was to have the boys both home and still messing around with footballs and basketballs.

Sitting at a table a lady across from me wrote a note on a two inch by two inch piece of white paper. She folded it in half, wrote "TOM" on the top fold and passed it to me. I read the note and placed it in an easy to find place. The verse would be easy to remember. Maybe I'll repeat it to myself througout the day until I have it memorized.

I left the meeting and went about my day as always. Thinking of a good job for my son Aaron, now 18, I called his cell phone 772-1529. (15 was his high school football jersey and 29 was his youth football number). No answer at about 9 or 10 AM, so I left a message. At 11:30 until 12:30 I was at an appointment. Cathy was at the office. Patrick in school. Sometime around 1:00 pm I left Aaron another message on a different job idea. I didn't know that the second message would never be heard.

By 2:45 that afternoon our lives would be the same no more. Aaron had died at about 12:22 pm and we were now receiving the call. I see the number register on my phone as coming from a 266 extension I think. The voice on the other end: "Mr. Meyer, I'm calling from the Dane County Sherrif's Department, North East Precinct." That's the way I remember the conversation beginning.

We picked up Patrick at school before he could hear the rumors from friends on a bus, and came home. The doors were open. The TV was on with a video game paused to be continued. Aaron had stepped out intending to return shortly. People were rushing around the house. A police officer and sheriff deputy were going through Aaron's room. I lost track of Cathy. I fell to my knees in the front room trying to recall the words of the verse given to me in the morning. I don't know for sure how to describe my feeling at the time; desperation, panic, disbelief, distress, anger, sick... all come to mind. Sad is too small of a word to compound all of the emotions. What were the words? I wanted to pray. I told God this is not a cross I want to carry but if it is true and God's will I'll do my best. But those weren't the words I wanted. Where did I put the note?

Today I found the note in the first place I looked. Right where it belongs in my Daily Reflections book, at May 10. The verse reads:

Let me hear what you need me to hear.

Let me speak what you need me to speak.

Let my Mind and Heart be Open.

Pausing to reflect,

Tom

Grateful That a Father's Work is Never Done

I'm learning to continue my relationship with my son in Heaven.

When I'd rather be advising my son on things I know and hearing about his daily experiences, I am learning to comprehend the world beyond to the extent that it is revealed to us. This is no time for purely rational thinking. My son is in heaven and I know nothing about heaven. I know life in Washington, Oregon, D.C. , Wisconsin, college, the work world, but I don't know heaven. I know a little about dating, friends, marriage, parenting, but I don't know heaven.

From reading, counseling, connecting with people who have been further down this road of living with a loss of a child, I am understanding that I can continue a relationship with my son in heaven. The little I am beginning to understand includes a "heart talk". This amazing connection was a warm, relaxing comfortable feeling beyond what I ever experienced in a face to face discussion.

Maybe my role as a father to my son is to encourage him to freely experience everything before him in heaven without regrets for leaving us behind. My friends are bonding with their college aged children in ways I cannot. If I live in regret and envy, my life will implode. If I live in gratitude for my son's life in heaven, my life will blossom. I'm beginning to feel that fatherhood is not a job that ends at death. All I do today influences my surviving son beyond my days on earth. My son, Aaron who lives in heaven, may still need my support. I believe he does. It will take growth on my part to understand my role. That has to be good.

As I read to Aaron two days before he died "...I can be a father today when you need me most..." That has not changed. Aaron does not need me to be a father to him yesterday, he needs me today. Today I can be that father to Aaron because of the growth and understanding God has enabled for me. Being a better father to a son in heaven will make me a better father to my son on earth. A father's work is never done and that's a good thing.

Peace.
Tom

Marley and PT

We acquired a new dog this past fall: Rocket's Doc Marley. Seven months old with a head as hard as calculus. Everything is something to be picked up and run with...and then destroyed.

Right now he's rolling on the floor, playing with a nickel. It doesn't appear he's going to swallow the coin, just roll it around in his mouth, drop it, pick it up and repeat. No, he just ate it or it slid down his throat by accident. Eating money is probably illegal. Marley, as Patrick calls him, or Doc as I choose, is in trouble with everyone in the house. Might as well have the Department of Treasury on his case too.

We discovered an effective tool to stop Doc Marley in his tracks (now he's chewing a rug), bark at him like another dog would. For some reason "Arf Arf Arf" is better understood than "Damnit Doc, put that plant down!"

Doc and Cathy have a special relationship. She tolerates him much better than I expected and takes a firm approach with the animal. Cathy lets Doc know what she thinks of him when he makes a wreck of some household item. When she's cleaning up the pieces Doc lets Cathy know what he thinks of her stern scolding...he runs up and nips her in the butt, and then scoots away. The nip is just a tiny one, but enough to cause a shriek from Cathy. Once caught, Cathy wheelbarrows Doc to his kennel for some quiet time. (I know, the kennel is not to be used for punishment...it's a "safe place".)

For Christmas I gave Patrick the book Marley and Me. I received the same book as a gift from my sister Kathy and her family.... Doc just choked himself on a chew bone and I stopped writing briefly to see if he needed a dog version of the heimlich maneuver performed. Patrick is reading his book. I returned mine and bought two CD's, Johnny Cash and Eddie Arnold. I'll read Marley and Me eventually; for now, living the story is enough.

Patrick and Marley get along very well, provided Marley stays out of Patrick's basement space. Patrick has a problem with Marley picking up his stuff. Actually, Patrick has a problem with Patrick picking up his stuff. I can' t blame Marley, the volume of debris scattered around Patrick's rooms must make the retrievers head spin "I gotta get this shoe, no this shoe, no no this shirt, this can, this bag of donuts, no I better grab this pizza, or or maybe this hat, this jacket, I gotta have this jacket, oh no, here's a pillow. I love pillows...ahh a blanket, a shoe...."

This Chesapeake Bay Retriever loves to run and swim. They need lots of exercise and Doc Marley gets some but not nearly enough. Friday we go to Iowa for two days. I intend to wear him out, even if it means he walks home.

Tom